Chapter 4: Confronting Stephanie

What hit me hardest was that Stephanie walked in with her arm hooked through Sullivan's.  I stood off to the side in a waiter's uniform, and she didn't even see me. I, however, saw her plain as day. My mind flatlined. I had never imagined that Sullivan was her sugar daddy.  What a soap-opera twist. I froze where I was and watched Sullivan lead Stephanie into the elevator. Maybe because of Leila, he shot me a quick, pointed look before stepping in.  Stephanie missed it all, busy, no doubt, figuring out what she could get out of him. Seeing me rooted to the spot and fury simmering in my eyes, Sullivan gave me a knowing little smile and slipped into the elevator. He figured I was mad because of Leila. He had no idea I was furious at Stephanie. I had once seen Stephanie climb into another man's car with my own eyes, yet we'd never actually broken up. In a way, she was still my girlfriend.  The thought lit a fuse inside me. I bolted for the elevator. Before I reached it, the doors slid shut. I saw which floor it stopped at, didn't think twice, and took another elevator up. On the sixth floor, I flagged down a staffer and asked, "Where's Mr. Showyer? He left something in the car. I'm here to bring it up." She took in my club uniform and did not question me, just pointed right. "Mr. Showyer's resting in Room 6108." I sprinted for Room 6108. At the door, I steadied myself with a few deep breaths. I was ready to kick it in when it swung open on its own.  Stephanie stood there. She clearly had not expected to see me. Her face went pale. "What are you doing here?" "That's my line, Stephanie," I said, fists clenched. My voice carried. She flinched and glanced back into the room. Hearing nothing, she hissed, "Keep your voice down." Before I could answer, she waved at the attendant who had just spoken to me and told her to bring a clean bath towel.  I did not need to guess who was in the shower. Stephanie made no move to leave. I grabbed her wrist and asked, "Do you have any shame left?" "Andy, I have my reasons," she said, her brow furrowed, searching for a way to explain. "You cheat on me and say you have your reasons?" I spat, rage boiling over. I was about to say more when the water cut off. Sullivan had finished showering. Stephanie started pushing at me, urgent and insistent.  There was no way I would back off. I do not know what possessed me, but I pressed past her and slipped into the suite.  She blanched and whispered frantically for me to hide. I knew if Sullivan walked out and caught me here, he would summon his men, have me beaten, and toss me into the hallway.  I frowned and was shoved by Stephanie into the other room in the suite. "Where's that towel?" Sullivan called, his voice lazy, with a leering edge. Stephanie opened her mouth to answer. There was a knock at the door. The towel had arrived. A moment later, Sullivan told Stephanie to dry him off. I hadn't planned on eavesdropping on Sullivan twice in a row. First with Leila, an experience of forbidden thrill. Now with Stephanie, where only fury remained. Just as I was about to storm out, my phone vibrated. My heart leaped into my throat, and my rage fizzled for a second. I peeked at the screen. It was a message from Leila: "Is work treating you well?" Seeing her text eased the ache a notch. Stephanie and I were clearly finished. What good would it do to burst in? I switched my phone to record and put my hand on the door handle. The suite's soundproofing was decent. I held my breath, cracked the door, and pressed my eye to the gap. Sullivan stood naked by the bed while Stephanie toweled him off. His hands roamed, groping her with greedy fingers. She squirmed, ticklish, her body twisting. Without thinking, she glanced toward me. Her eyes met mine through the crack. She saw the phone lens, too, aimed straight at them. "Why'd you stop?" Sullivan asked, his voice darkening. "I suddenly feel a bit unwell," Stephanie mumbled. "Down there, huh?" Sullivan laughed crudely. He shoved her onto the bed and flipped up her skirt. Cold air hit her bare skin. I had not expected her to be going commando. He didn't bother with any foreplay and tried to force himself in.  Stephanie kept struggling. "Mr. Showyer, I'm really not well. Next time, please." "Next time, huh?" Sullivan's face tightened in annoyance. He slapped her hard on the rear.  "Ah!" she yelped. A red handprint bloomed on her pale skin, and her resistance faltered. He smirked, about to try again, when his phone chimed with a text. He glanced at it, scowled, and told Stephanie, "Damn it, bad timing. Wait for me." He swatted her again, then hurried into his clothes and left. As soon as he was gone, I pocketed my phone, pushed open the inner door, and strode toward Stephanie. "Where'd Sullivan go?" "I don't know. Abigail texted him, and he left," she said, tugging her skirt down fast. When she tugged her skirt down, I accidentally caught a glimpse of it. My eyes were glued to her hem. "Who's Abigail?" "Sullivan's wife," she snapped, impatient, then shot back, "Why were you filming me just now?" "You know he has a wife, and you're still with him?" I looked down at her on the bed, contempt curling my lip. I pressed her shoulder and shoved her back onto the mattress. "As for filming? So I'd have something to hold over you." "Andy Cutmore, you… you bastard!" Stephanie froze for a beat, then tried to get up. I ignored her outrage and held her down. "You snuck around behind my back to be Sullivan's plaything, and I'm the bastard? Stephanie, if you don't want this video getting around campus, then do for me what you do for him." She stared, stunned, as if the floor had dropped away.  A savage thrill of payback surged through me. I forced my hand between her thighs and felt the damp there.